


Pretend

by makesometime



Series: Friday One Word Challenge Fics [4]
Category: Terra Nova (TV)
Genre: Brothers, F/M, Fingerfucking, In Public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows Miles Taylor. Everyone knows Miles Taylor. You could live under a rock and probably still know the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for TaylorWash/Taylor – Pretend [prompted by](http://terranovafanfic.livejournal.com/103539.html?thread=912755#t912755) bellebby in the [Friday One Word Challenge – Week 3](http://terranovafanfic.livejournal.com/103539.html)

She knows Miles Taylor. Everyone knows Miles Taylor. You could live under a rock and probably still know the man. The news regularly had a field day with him – the liberal media hates him, sees him as symptomatic of everything wrong with the armed forces and conflict in their dying world; but to the worst side of the media he's a hero, a do-gooder out to avenge all attacks ever made against their beloved country and who the hell cares how many innocents die along the way?

She knows him more intimately than that, thanks to a few evenings spread over several months, but she certainly doesn't know him any better than they do. He remains a mystery wrapped in a puzzle tied up with an enigma ribbon, and when she sees him across the crowded bar her heart drops to her boots even as it flip-flops with excitement. She wasn't sure whether he'd be invited.

Her unit is out to celebrate the end of a successful campaign in Africa, playing a small part in the attempt to avert all-out war in Somalia. She doesn't think that, in the long run, they will have made a lot of difference, but the entire unit made it out alive (if not entirely in one piece) and that in itself is worthy of a hell of a lot of alcohol.

Nathaniel is holding court by the bar in the establishment they've chosen as victim for the evening (Alicia is sure that the owner will be suitably compensated in the end but she still feels a little guilty) telling stories from the past to his little gaggle of hangers-on. She used to be like that, at the beginning, before she stopped seeing him as _Taylor_ and got to know him as Nathaniel, a dear friend and loved one, whose family she has become part of without a second thought. Ayani Taylor is like the older sister she never had, looking out for her and giving her advice on how to deal with Nathaniel in his stranger moods.

It only twists the knife in her heart more, then, that she's desperately in love with her friend's husband.

She shakes her head to clear that thought when she sees Ayani walking back from the bathroom to slip under Nathaniel's outstretched arm, presses her hand to the middle of his torso as she laughs at whatever he whispers in her ear.

There's that knife again.

"Can I get you a drink, Sergeant?" She hears from behind her and only the fact that she's a highly-trained member of an elite squad of soldiers stops her from jumping in surprise. She had lost track of Miles in the crowd, a costly mistake.

She swivels a little on her heel, changing her position at the high table she'd been leaning against and allowing him to join her. She gestures at him with her half-full bottle of beer. "I'm all set, thank you sir."

"Something better than a damn beer, Wash." He scoffs. She tries not to flinch at the familiar/unfamiliar voice saying her nickname.

He shoots her a wicked smile and she can't help the way her lips quirk in response. "Maybe later, sir."

He looks more than a little pleased at her admission that she plans on there being a _later_ but doesn't call her on it, instead downs his drink (something much harder than her beer) and places it down on the table. He then takes her bottle from her hand and puts it down next to his glass, grasping her wrist with his other hand.

"Sir?" She questions when he starts walking backwards, pulling her with him. She doesn't resist, not yet, but she damn well will if she doesn't like his explanation.

"Dance with me, Wash."

She laughs, but he's deadly serious. His feet continue to draw them towards the darkened area to the back of the bar that's been designated as the dance floor by the younger members of the unit; a place for the young men and women who have found young men and women to while their night away with.

Neither she nor Miles are strictly _young_ anymore. Him definitely less so than her, though she supposes she's much younger than she both feels and is regarded as by others. It doesn't matter though, the music is loud and the lights are low and she might actually be able to _forget_ for just a while.

Miles pulls her through the bodies already taking up the small space just as the song changes to something with a harder bass line, a stronger rhythm. It's the kind of music she listens to of her own choice, the kind of thing she'd use if she was going out for a run and it pulses through her, right down to her bones. She smiles to herself and Miles spots it, stopping once they reach the back wall. 

Alicia keeps walking until she is right up against him, one arm winding around his neck while her other links with his own. His other arm wraps around her, hauling her into his body until she is straddling his thigh, pressing them together from their hips up to their chests. A small part of her whispers that this can hardly be described as 'dancing' but she'd have been a fool if she believed that was what he really wanted in the first place. He was just conspiring a way to get as close to her as possible in public, and she's had enough alcohol tonight, seen enough of Nathaniel and Ayani playing happy families, to want nothing more than that herself.

She begins to move against him, her hips swaying against him as he joins her in the slow, decadent rhythm she sets. He presses his thigh up hard between hers, leaning back against the wall to allow himself the freedom to do so. She resists the urge to grind down on it for all of a few seconds, wanting to at least pretend to _herself_ that this is truly about the dancing, the music, the bass.

He untangles their hands, allowing her to bring hers around to his back to splay over the strong muscles her palm finds to rest against. Miles's arm slips under her own, up around her to cup the back of her head, winding in the strands of her dark hair. He uses this grip to guide her mouth to his and she can't help the little groan of pleasure than escapes her when his tongue slips between her eagerly open lips. This is entirely inappropriate behaviour for two normal people in public, let alone two officers in the presence of their units but she can't bring herself to care when she feels his growing erection pushing against her as his hips thrust into hers in time to the music.

She loses herself in him so much that the song has changed by the time they come up for air, and he uses her moment of distraction to turn her around in his embrace.

She looks out through the bodies of the unaware soldiers around them and immediately her eyes find Nathaniel. She jolts, the sensation of seeing him perfectly in her line of sight, bathed in the golden light as he tells war stories by the bar while she is humping his brother in the darkness almost too bizarre to comprehend.

She feels Miles laugh behind her as his hands press into her lower stomach, holding her firmly to him. Her hips are still swaying, rubbing her ass into his length. She knows that right now Nathaniel can't see her, even though he is there, clear as day, right in front of her. A small part of her mind nags at her, points out that she could take advantage of this situation, use Miles as a tool for gratification while watching the man she _really_ wants. Another part of her – the larger, more sensible, part – argues that she chose _Miles_ for this, not as a substitute, but as his own man. He is _not_ his brother. She doesn't want him to be.

Miles's hands slip further down, one unfastening the button of her jeans while the other lowers the zipper. The first slips inside, finds no underwear and he grins against her throat. "Big plans tonight, Sergeant?"

More like they only got into town a hour before leaving for the bar and she couldn't be bothered to unpack her bags just to find a clean pair of underwear. But he doesn't need to know this. "You complaining sir?"

He doesn't reply, instead favouring a nip to her skin as his hand slips down further into her pants. She spreads her legs a little to ease his way and gets a full bite this time, his lips covering the ravaged skin and sucking hard to draw out the pain. She gasps, bucking her hips as his fingers find her clitoris in perfect time to the suction on her neck.

"He doesn't even see you, you know. Not like that." His voice is low in her ear, unexpected, and her eyes fly open as they were slowly falling shut.

"I know." She says quietly, just loud enough to hear over the music.

"Why are you so hung up on him?" He asks, punctuating the question with a squeeze of her clit as his other hand rubs hard over the seam of her jeans between her legs, pushing the material into her sensitive skin. "Why? Because he's so _noble_? A big goddamn hero?"

"I don't know." She whispers, now unable to take her eyes off the man in questions as Miles presses harder against her. His hips are now completely still against her own and when she pushes back against him his hands start to withdraw from her. So she stills.

"When we're together. Do you pretend I'm him?"

"No!" She cries, trying to turn around to reassure him of the sincerity of her words. But his arms hold her steady.

"You could." He says. "Do it."

" _What_?" 

"Watch him now. Watch him as I finger you, tease you, make you come. Pretend it's his hands. Pretend it's his cock pressed hard against your ass. Do it." He commands. She bites her lip and nods, just a little. 

Somehow compared to everything (the supreme lack of enough alcohol in her system, the public location, the fact that anyone could turn around and see exactly what's going on) imagining Miles as Nathaniel is nearly a step too far for her to comprehend. She watches her CO, absent his wife once more, leaning conspiratorially forward to share a, likely lewd, story with his audience. They all fall about laughing when he finishes and his smile is as broad as she has ever seen it, his happiness inspires a warmth in her own body and she thrusts back against Miles's invading fingers.

"That's it, that's my girl." He croons. "I bet he's good with his hands, my brother. Between the two of us we'd have you screaming so loud you wouldn't be able to talk for a week."

She whimpers at the mental images his harsh words evoke, lets her head fall back against the support of his shoulder. " _More_." She groans, and she's not sure if she means more pressure, or more words.

Miles takes it to mean both, fingers rubbing harder and pinching at her bundle of nerves as his mouth latches onto her earlobe. "Don't think he could handle you, Wash. You're a spitfire, you need someone who can harness all of you and-." He thrusts hard against her. " _Appreciate_ it."

He bites her shoulder once more and with one more pass of his fingers over her she breaks, shouting into the hand he threw over her mouth at the last minute, images of Nathaniel burned into the backs of her eyelids.

She slumps back against Miles as he fastens her jeans, winds his slick fingers with her own and drags her through the crowd on unstable legs. 

Nathaniel spots them, smiles curiously at her flushed cheeks and her companion. It's all she can do not to go to him then, but Miles's grip is hard, unyielding, and she couldn't break away if she tried. Instead she smiles back at her CO, nods reassuringly and then follows Miles out of the bar, back to the barracks and away, she hopes, from ever having to think about this again.

She nearly smacks herself up the head for such a delusion. _If only._


End file.
